A Haunted Dildo for Blaine Anderson
by fbeauchamphartz
Summary: After that tiny error in judgment that caused Kurt to break up with him, Blaine feels like he's drifting. All he wants is to be back together with his boyfriend again. When he gets home from school, he discovers a present on his dresser. But this present might actually come with one…or two…kind of gruesome strings attached. LOL BLAINE FIC! DON'T READ IF THAT'S NOT YOUR THING!


**A/N: Halloween is turning into a complete bummer for Blaine. After that tiny error in judgment that caused Kurt to break up with him, Blaine feels like he's drifting. All he wants is to be back together with his boyfriend again. When he gets home from school, determined to spend the entire evening staring at the ceiling and think about the ways things might have been, he discovers a present on his dresser - an amazing, very personal present, that he assumes is from Kurt. But this present might actually come with one…or two…kind of gruesome strings attached.**

 **Warning - this is an extremely Blaine and Klaine unfriendly fic, with a hint of what was supposed to be Halloween attached. Do not read if that's not your thing! Also, warning for sexual content, sort of dub-con, and mention of pain and bruising.**

 **Written with much love, affection, and a gigantic apology for my extreme lateness to the founder of this ficlet - ahaunteddildoforblaine**

 **(For a look at the creatures in question, please visit the tumblr post post/139183420237/lol-blaine-ficlet-a-haunted-dildo-for-blaine)**

"So, you headin' over to Breadstix tonight?"

"Hmm?" Blaine looks over at Sam. He didn't understand the question at first. It sort of weeded into his ears as he mulled unhappily over his last Halloween, dressing up and Trick-or-Treating, having fun with his _boyfriend_ …before this thing with Kurt ruined his life. "Why? What's going on at Breadstix?"

"Sugar Motta's having a Halloween party," Sam says. "She's only invited the whole school."

"She is?" Blaine asks. "She did?"

"Dude, you're leaning on the flier."

Blaine pushes off the locker he's leaning on and looks behind him at a bright orange flier he's had his back against while Sam's been switching out books.

"Oh," Blaine says, scanning it over, morosely under-impressed. "Wait? Does she still go to this school?"

"Uh, yeah," Sam snickers. "She's just in a different choir now. The Troubletones. Don't you remember?"

"I…yeah, I guess." Blaine sighs. "I just haven't been thinking straight, you know, since that thing with Kurt…"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Sam cuts in, hoping to avoid that particular topic of conversation for the hundredth time. The more that Blaine goes on about it, the less Sam sees his side. "Look, are you coming to the party or what?"

Blaine rolls his eyes up, thinking it over. "No. It'll remind me too much of her last party. On Valentine's Day? I went to that party with Kurt…"

"I know," Sam says, slamming his locker door shut. "I was there. So, what do you have planned for tonight? Because if it involves eggs, t.p., and Coach Sylvester's house, I may just ditch Breadstix and hang with you."

Blaine sighs, louder than necessary and more dramatically than before. "I think I'm going to go home and have some much needed me time, you know? Just kind of clear my head."

"Whatever, dude," Sam says. "You know, I really think you can clear your head and eat Fettucine Alfredo at the same time." Sam knows he's done it when Blaine squeezes his eyes shut, his face twisting in nostalgic agony. _Fuck!_ Fettucine Alfredo! How the fuck did Sam forget about the whacked out name Blaine claims he and Kurt were going to name their celebrity child? "Okay," Sam says quickly, eager to leave before he has to hear _that_ story again, "well, I gotta jet. I'll talk to you later."

"Yeah," Blaine says, not turning his head to watch his best friend leave, which he usually does because it gives him an unparalleled opportunity to scope out his ass. "See ya."

* * *

Blaine doesn't remember getting home. He gets in his car and drives on autopilot, at one point finding himself sitting outside of Kurt's house and staring glumly up at his bedroom window, sighing at the dark space before pulling away from the curb and driving in the direction of home.

His house is quiet when Blaine gets there. He figures his mom's around somewhere. As far as he knew, she didn't have any plans, and his father…well, his father's never around.

He climbs up the stairs to his room, walks through the (oddly) already open door, tosses his messenger bag to the side, and drops down on his bed. He stares up at the ceiling, blinking away a few tears, and considers the futility of this thing called life. Maybe he'll lie there and wait to see if Kurt will call, see how he's doing, make sure he's okay alone. But Blaine knows he won't. He's probably at some fabulous Halloween party at _Vogue_ , dressed in an elaborate costume from the vault, maybe something skin tight, with cut outs in all sorts of evocative places. Because that's what Kurt's life is about now - living it up with models and designers and whatnot, and forgetting all about Lima and McKinley…and Blaine.

That's how this started. If Kurt hadn't forgotten about him, then Blaine wouldn't have been so lonely. He wouldn't have felt lost. He wouldn't have cheated. And they'd be happy.

They'd be boyfriends still.

Maybe he _should_ go to Breadstix. He thought he overheard Sam say something about dressing up as Rocky for Halloween. He was going to borrow the costume from the McKinley Drama Department so he wouldn't have to spend money on one this year. Blaine never did get the chance to see him in those gold board shorts the first time around. That might be the thing to cheer him up.

Car after car passes outside, dropping Trick or Treaters off at the end of the block. Blaine watches the headlights shine through his window, throwing shadows through the slats in his blinds and tossing colors on the ceiling, sparkles of gold, red, and blue shimmering in the dim tomb of his room.

Wait…

What the…?

There shouldn't be anything _shimmering_. What in the world?

Then he remembers, something he saw a glimpse of from the corner of his eye, sparkling as he walked in….

He sits up and looks around his room. He could have sworn…

He spots a package sitting on his dresser, situated in such a way that he'd have to see it when he sat on his bed. But he was too caught up in his daydreaming about Kurt that he didn't notice it right away, which is impossible because this package screams _notice me_. First of all, it's shaped like a lighthouse…suspiciously so. Not that the gift itself is a lighthouse, though it very well may be, but the box it's in definitely bears a striking resemblance to an aid to navigation. Plus, it's been decorated to look exactly like a lighthouse, so, there's that. Second, it's covered in glitter – gold and blue glitter – with a big glittery red ribbon masterfully tied into a fluffy bow perched on top.

He knows his mind was elsewhere but how did he not see it?

He stands from his bed and walks towards the dresser. A foot away, he notices a card dangling from the bow. He lifts it up so he can read it:

 _Hey sexy! I'm sure you wanna "cum" over, but this should be enjoyable instead 3_

Blaine smiles. The card isn't signed, but it looks like Kurt's flowery handwriting. Although, when he moves the card, the handwriting seems to blur a little. Blaine blinks, and it comes back into focus. Oh, yeah. That's Kurt, alright – the way he joins the _n's_ in "wanna" and the flourish on the _j_ and the _y_. But then Blaine moves it a centimeter and there's the blur again.

Ugh. The stress of dealing with this thing with Kurt, along with the musical and…well, it must be getting to him. He can't see straight.

The handwriting snaps back into place, but something else strikes him as kind of bizarre. To date, he's never seen or heard Kurt use the endearment _sexy_ , or the word _wanna_. In fact, didn't Blaine have to sit through a twenty-minute rant on the subject of _wanna_ once, and how slang like it was a blight to the already bastardized American-English language, thus proving, yet again, that French was a far superior tongue? Blaine doesn't remember. Once Kurt starts going, Blaine usually tunes him out. It doesn't matter. He pays attention to the important things, like Kurt's coffee order. But, _Hey sexy, wanna come over?_ happens to be _Eli's_ signature line. That's the Facebook message he sent that got Blaine to that motel room of his in the first place.

So, is this lighthouse package from _Eli_?

Blaine can't picture Eli using glittery ribbon like this. That's definitely a _Kurt_ trademark.

Blaine examines the package closely, searching for an address, when he realizes there isn't one. That means, someone delivered it and put it in here? Did his mom? Did it come in a separate box and she opened it? She opened his mail!? Did she read the card!?

 _Oh Christ!_

No. No, she didn't. She would have blown up his phone with messages at school if she had seen _hey sexy_ and _wanna "cum" over_. He remembers the first time Kurt sent flowers to his house with a card that read _Love, Kurt_. _That_ prompted an hour-long discussion about STD's and protection with his mother that he'll never get back.

So, that means someone he knows stopped by and left it, and the only person who could have arranged that was Kurt.

 _Yay!_

Oh, wait…does that mean that Kurt knows more about Eli than he's letting on?

Blaine shrugs. It doesn't matter, as long as Kurt's cool to let bygones be bygones _finally_. Blaine's glad that Kurt can not only get over it, but poke fun at it a little. Though, how he knows about the lighthouse thing is slightly unnerving. Did he somehow hack into Blaine's Facebook account? Maybe they need to have that discussion about _personal boundaries_ again.

Of course, if this gift means what he thinks it means, maybe he can let that slide, this one time.

…

He'll revisit that after he opens his present.

He turns the package around, looking it over from all sides, trying to find a place to open it. His first thought is to tear into it, but _Kurt_ obviously went through a lot of trouble to make this look special. It would be a horrible first step in their reconciliation to obliterate it. Blaine turns it back forward and delicately lifts up the bow, dislodging the card, which he catches in time before it flutters to the floor. He pinches it between his fingers, raining glitter all over his dresser, his clothes, his hands. It seems to spread and _dammit,_ because that stuff gets everywhere.

Didn't he see a meme once that called glitter the _herpes of arts and crafts supplies_?

That's his Kurt – spreading sparkle wherever he goes.

Once the bow comes off the top, the top pops up, weird because the thing looked completely sealed before. But no matter. Kurt is a man of many talents. He could definitely whip up some sort of puzzle box out of cardboard and Mod Podge.

Blaine reaches his fingers into the top and grabs what's inside, lifting it out, careful not to spray himself with any more glitter. He pulls it out inch by inch, his eyes opening wide as he sees it - seven glorious inches of flesh-colored length, exquisitely cut and absolutely beautiful…exactly like his gorgeous boyfriend. In fact, that's it – it looks _exactly_ like Kurt. He must have gotten one of those build-a-dildo kits from that adult website he caught Blaine peeking at on his laptop.

Aww…he remembered.

God, the thought that Kurt ordered one of these kits and used it, made a perfect mold of his fully erect self for Blaine to play with…

He even tied a tiny red and black bowtie to the top of it.

Oh…bae…

Blaine's hands shake touching it, fingering the fine lines and veins, the slit at the top, just like he remembers it.

 _Fuck!_ He can't wait to use it.

Blaine pulls the dildo completely from the package, and a bottle of lube falls out with it. Blaine picks it up and holds it to the light. The bottle, or the lube itself, is tinged a baby pink. Blaine fondly rolls his eyes. Leave it to Kurt to buy _pink_ lube. Blaine can see no brand name on the label, only a slogan – _Doesn't wear off until you get off!_

 _Hmm,_ he thinks _. Definitely sounds promising._

He flips the lid to take a sniff, grimacing slightly when he notices that there's no safety seal underneath. Someone needs to clue his adorable boyfriend (because yay! This has to mean they're boyfriends again!) that finding a bargain isn't always necessarily the best thing. The lube has a vaguely fruity smell that's familiar, but that Blaine can't quite place. He grins, wondering if that means it's edible. He looks at the bottle again, but there's no information. _Oh, well,_ he thinks, setting it aside. He'll wait until his _boyfriend_ tells him that it's edible.

Maybe he can send Kurt a Jet Blue voucher and have him race down to Ohio so they can try it out together.

With the lube and that dildo, Blaine's almost tempted to shove his pants down around his knees and have at it…but no. He has his Kurt back. He needs to celebrate the occasion appropriately. He puts the Kurt dildo and the lube on his nightstand beside his indispensable, industrial-sized package of baby wipes, and begins to undress, removing article by article, pretending in his mind that Kurt's there with him, unbuttoning his shirt, unzipping his pants, whispering in his ear how happy he is that they're finally back together. Blaine peeks over at his nightstand to get a look at his boyfriend's incredible member, but something sort of unusual happens.

The dildo starts to vibrate. (So…it's a vibrator? That's even better!)

No…it blurs…it changes, becoming shorter, and now it's uncut – not an altogether unattractive dick, just not the one he wants.

The last time Blaine saw a dick like that, Eli had mounted his face.

In retrospect, Blaine should have known that a man who solicited him for sex using a lighthouse as his avatar was probably overcompensating.

Blaine blinks, put off by the idea that this dildo might actually be Eli and not Kurt. He closes his eyes, shakes his head, and when he opens them again, all is well, the dildo back to normal, Kurt's dick on his nightstand, waiting for him.

Blaine drapes his shirt over a chair, then his pants. He approaches the bed, completely naked, adding a bit of his old Warbler swagger when he walks, picturing Kurt waiting for him, breathless at the thought of pleasuring his boyfriend again.

Blaine climbs across the mattress and grabs his new toys. He flips the lid on the lube, squeezing some into his hand, but he gets this funny feeling, like a voice in his head, telling him that he doesn't really need it, that the dildo will slip right on in without any lube, any preparation at all. He gives it a try and finds that yes, this very real feeling dildo does indeed require no lube. It slides right in, his body stretching to accommodate it, no sting, no burn, as if his Kurt had never left.

He starts out on his back, imagining Kurt above him, staring down at him adoringly, as he tries to maneuver the dildo in and out of his ass, fisting his dick in a complimentary rhythm…but he just can't seem to find one. He feels it vibrate again, feels it change again, becoming larger this time? How is that possible? But then the strangest thing of all happens, and the dildo starts moving on its own. Blaine gets a sudden thought that makes his dick throb. Could this be one of those long distance, Bluetooth things? Is Kurt in his bedroom back in New York City, controlling this thing over a WiFi connection?

"God, Kurt," Blaine moans, on the off chance Kurt can hear him through the dildo somehow. He crawls to his hand and knees. If this thing works off some kind of remote control, he'd rather take it this way, where he can better reach his own dick and let this toy have its way with him. And this new position must help with the wireless connection because, all of a sudden, the dildo starts pounding away, pounding hard, just the way he likes it, but misses his special sweet spot by barely an inch. _Must be because Kurt can't see him,_ Blaine reasons, but there's no way he's going to make it to his laptop and hop on Skype. If he could just lower himself to the mattress, spread his legs wider, arch his back to give it some direction. But it's almost like the damn thing knows, and it's missing on purpose. "Kurt," Blaine groans. "Baby…no…a little to the…mmm…now a little to the…Jesus, what are you…"

Something pushes against his lips. He turns his head to look, but whatever it is, it's persistent, and forces its way in. Blaine - gasping at the overzealous dildo in his ass hitting all the wrong spots, only grazing over the right ones - wraps his tongue around this foreign object in his mouth, trying to figure out what it is. To his overwhelming surprise, it's another dildo. Another _Kurt_ dildo. Confusing since, as far as Blaine knows, the only Kurt dildo he owns is currently assaulting his ass. But it feels like Kurt against his tongue, tastes like him in his mouth. But then, another vibration, and it's not Kurt. It's… _Eli_? Blaine tries to pull back, tries to look at what's right in front of him, way too close to his eyes to focus on, but he can't. He can't move. He has a dick in his mouth, and a dick in his ass, and he's locked in between.

 _Okay, Blaine Anderson…think? What the hell is going on?_

Unless, he realizes…he could be dreaming. He must have fallen asleep on his bed getting ready to play with his Kurt dildo. Or maybe he actually did start masturbating and _then_ fell asleep, and that's why he can feel it in his body. Can a person masturbate in their sleep? Maybe he's doing that right now. That would make sense. He was exhausted when he got home. Then the excitement and the anticipation of getting back together with Kurt, receiving this wonderful gift, and plus, that fruity-smelling lube. He's having a dream. He's dreaming about fucking Kurt, and (he wraps his tongue around the dick in his mouth) sucking Eli, and why not? Just this once won't hurt. If this is all a dream, a super mega foxy awesome hot intense dream, then he's going to go for it.

Except it feels so real, and as hot as it is, everything's wrong – exasperatingly wrong. Wrong angles, wrong speed, wrong depth, and now, this dick in his mouth is gagging him. Yes, it's a hot dream, but if he's choking in real life, he needs a way out _now_. He figures that if he makes himself cum, then maybe the dream will end, but he can't reach for his dick, his elbows locked, his hands glued flat to his comforter, stuck there by that disastrous lube.

This has to be a dream. It just has to be. The dick in his mouth moves faster, becomes larger, becomes…sharp, sort of scaly, and Blaine can't breathe. He starts to panic. He needs to find a way out of this, maybe pull some inception shit and prove to himself he's dreaming. Then he'll wake up. But how? He tries to twist his head, but something grabs him by the hair and locks him in place. His eyes dart around, looking for something, trying to see himself…ah! His closet. It's open a smidge. He can see a sliver of the full-length mirror hanging on the door. If he can see himself, if he can prove to himself somehow that he's dreaming, and maybe that'll be enough to wake him up.

But what he sees when he looks in the mirror stops his heart dead – stone cold dead.

At first, he sees himself, only himself, with his mouth stretched wide and his ass hoisted in the air. The reflection blurs, the way everything's been blurring, but when it comes into focus, he's not alone. There's a… _something_ behind him, larger than a human man, at least three times as large as he is, covered in putrid, mottled grey-green flesh, with the face of a rotting corpse. It shimmers, seems to want to turn into Kurt, but it doesn't quite make it, and all it becomes is this grotesque mask of Kurt's face, skin stretched tight and tearing in places, ripping down his cheeks, around his eyes, wearing a grin that splits his face in half, filled with so many rows of dagger-like teeth, his lips can't close around them. Some of the teeth break through the flesh, black blood dripping down his chin and his hole-ridden chest.

After that, Blaine doesn't want to see the thing in front of him, jagged dick stuffed almost completely down his throat, but he doesn't get that choice. Whatever glamor has it cloaked shifts when it laughs, staring down at Blaine with glowing red eyes. It looks serpentine, its long, barbed tail stretching out from its spine, prehensile forked tongue wetting the seam of morbid black lips, stretching down to lap along Blaine's cheek. The entirety of the creature's red and black body is covered in spines, the same spines he can feel inside his mouth, slicing microscopic cuts along the inside of his cheeks.

Blaine tries to buck free. He wants to scream, but there's no way he can breathe, let alone make a sound. All he can manage is a grating, raw, and choked sputter of his lips buzzing around this savagely large demonic dick, nothing that anyone outside of a one-foot radius would hear.

Blaine blinks his burning eyes, staring at his reflection in the mirror, but a split second later, the two monstrous entities disappear.

But they're not gone. Blaine can feel them, growing, filling his body till he thinks he'll crack in half. They go back to their rough violation of him, giving him no time to breathe, no room to escape, their clawed hands digging into his skin, invisible nails leaving very real scratches.

The rotten dick in his ass moves faster, and Blaine's back bends to keep up, but his muscles are weak, shaking from strain, and all he wants to do is fall down on his mattress. Every time he tries, every time he wants to let go, he can't. His locked elbows won't loosen, his ass, clenching to push whatever out and keep it out, simply cramps up with the attempt, making each thrust agonizingly painful. When he feels whatever inside him cum, without any kind of protection, he realizes in horror, it burns, through his pelvis, down his throat, and he swears it's weeping out his tear ducts. As for him, his balls ache, his dick limp from repeatedly being edged with no relief, giving up even trying for completion.

There's a high-pitched hellish fit of laughter, joined by another, more mellow, but equally evil-sounding tenor voice. Both creatures coo at him, mocking him in unison.

"Hey, sexy…did you enjoy it?"

A raucous peal of laughter rings so loud in his ears, he feels his eardrums pop. Through that searing pain and the throbbing in his head, he hears muffled talking.

 _Do you think he did? Because I think he did._

 _I think it's the realization of one of his deepest, darkest, wet dreams. Fucking the man he loved, and the man he cheated on him with._

 _Do you think he wants to go again? Because I'm ready for round two._

Blaine gags anew as the serrated thing in his mouth starts to move.

 _Way ahead of you…_

Another impotent scream tries, but never passes Blaine's lips, stretching around a dick that's too big for his mouth but is still managing to fuck it fairly steadily. As far as Blaine knows, those two creatures, or demons, or nightmares, or whatever they are, aren't done with him by the time he passes out.

* * *

 _Bzzz-bzzz._

 _Bzzz-bzzz._

The sound of Blaine's phone rattling against the wood of his desk makes him jump. He knew it was just his phone, but he hasn't slept longer than four hours in weeks, and everything puts him on edge - every noise outside, every voice in his house, every song. He had to set his phone to permanent vibrate to keep from leaping out of his skin every time someone from school called, which was almost every five minutes.

It wasn't the ring tone that bothered him so much. Katy Perry's _Teenage Dream_ is one of his all-time favorite songs. It reminds him so much of Kurt, and all the good times they shared.

What bothered him is that the ring tone kept changing, on its own, without Blaine touching it.

Originally, he thought he knew why. He had a logical reason in place.

The day after Halloween, he'd woken up, completely naked, with two human-looking dildos lying beside him when he swore he'd only had one. But there they were – the first gorgeous one that looked remarkably like Kurt, and the other, stubbier, but still attractive one that reminded him of Eli. But having the two could actually explain a lot of things, like why he felt one in his ass and another one in his mouth. It had to be him playing with them by himself all along. And the demon…things? Hallucinations. From that lube. There had to be something in that lube. He barely used a quarter-sized dollop, but it had been dripping from his ass like a fucking faucet, frothy and pink, smelling sickeningly sweet, mixed with the stench of sweat, sex, and shit in the humid air around him. That package on his dresser, cutely decorated to look like a lighthouse, had a blinking red light on top, like a video camera, and the worst part of all – his bedroom door was wide open. Blaine realized, as he blushed from head to toe with full body shame, that his mother seeing him passed out, naked, with two dildos, and foam seeping out of his ass, was actually the _best_ case scenario.

What if this was all an elaborate prank? What if whoever delivered the lighthouse package had been hiding out in his house all along, waiting to find him in a compromised position, and tape him while under the influence? What if they had used his heartbreak as a way to get the drop on him?

He couldn't think of anyone who would want to do that to him, though. Everybody loved him.

Then, out of nowhere, his phone had started to ring, over and over, the ring tone changing, from _Teenage Dream_ to _Don't Speak_ to _Cold Hearted,_ with a number flashing across the screen that he didn't recognize. He Googled it, but only came up with some urban legend about a vacuum cleaner repair company voice mail message linked to a local serial killer…right there in Ohio.

Needless to say, he refused to answer his phone for a few days.

He tore apart the lighthouse, looking for signs of a camera or a transmitter, something that might have recorded him masturbating, or, at least, messed with his phone, but he couldn't even find the red light. The box, aside from the original dildo (singular) and lube, was completely empty. Just plain brown cardboard.

So, as it turns out, logic has no place in his universe anymore. There's a way simpler explanation for why all of this is happening to him.

The stress over this thing with Kurt is making him go insane.

Blaine watches his phone buzz across his desk and sighs. It's the fifteenth time Sam's called in the last half hour. Shouldn't he be in math class right now? Blaine can't put him off. If he doesn't pick up the phone, then Sam will come over, and…well, he can't see Sam. Or anyone. He just…he can't.

Blaine picks up the call, but Sam doesn't even let him say hello.

"Blaine? Blaine, did you pick up? I can't tell if you picked up."

"Yes, Sam," Blaine says. "It's me."

"Hey. I was just calling to see if you're coming to Glee Club this afternoon."

"No," Blaine says in a reverently soft voice. "No, I…I can't."

"Blaine! Come on, man," Sam says, sounding worried and frustrated. "We have a competition coming up. You're our lead!"

"Not anymore," Blaine says in the same gravitas tone.

"Dude, what gives? You haven't been at school in, like, three weeks. You're going to get held back."

"No, I won't," Blaine says. "Because I'm…I'm IEP."

"IEP!" Sam coughs it out as if Blaine had told him he'd signed up to become a crash test dummy. "You mean you dropped out!?"

"I didn't drop out. I just…I'm taking a double class load, trying to get into medical school."

Blaine hears a soft gasp on the phone. "So, what? No more NYADA? No more Broadway? That was your dream, man! You can't give it up. You could actually make it."

Blaine glances down at his arm, at something that's been worrying him since Halloween. "I'm not sure about that."

"Is this about Kurt?"

 _Yes_ , a sinister voice chuckles in his head, a cruel mixture of Kurt's voice, of Eli's voice, of another darker voice, one that lowers the temperature in Blaine's room about seventeen degrees when he hears it, the heat from his mouth showing in the air.

"N-no," Blaine answers defensively, not only to Sam on the phone, but the whatever is talking in his head? Or in his room? Does he even want to acknowledge that it might be real, and not a side-effect of the probably lead-based lube Kurt sent him? "It's not, it's just…my decision. I've wanted to become a doctor for a while. Since I was a little kid, as a matter of fact."

"Yeah, yeah, the Operation game thing. I've heard that story before." Sam sighs. "Why wouldn't you tell me, man?"

"I…I had my reasons." Blaine looks down at his arm again, a patch of scaly grey, rotting skin peeking through the healthy flesh. It smells like death, itches like no one's business…and it's spreading. A piece of his skin near the border, raw and red, which he's been scratching like crazy, flakes off, revealing more grey scaly grossness underneath. "Personal reasons."


End file.
